


All for Justice

by Arilumen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Dementors, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Everyone is angry, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Slow Burn, Smut, This Was Supposed To Be A One Shot, but it came out differently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arilumen/pseuds/Arilumen
Summary: The Wizarding World is wounded after the War. People are mourning and seeking revenge. That's why the Ministry is setting up a long list of executions.Hermione wouldn't mind too much, but they're using the Dementors' Kiss without even giving the prisoner the right of a fair trial, and it troubles her more than anything.That's why she wants to stop it.And what a better occasion than the execution itself? Except that the first up in the Ministry's list is the Malfoy family, so she finds herself stuck with that insufferable git after saving his precious ass from being ripped off of his soul. She decides to make the best out of the situation to achieve her goal: improve the judicial system.All for Justice....Right?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I guess I'm just trying something new here. It started as a single chapter story, but then turned out as something different, and I'm so excited about it! Without any further ado, here's the first chapter.  
> <3

** All for Justice  
  
**

Hermione was sitting on the quidditch field's stands for the umpteenth time in her life, and again she wished to be anywhere but there, witnessing the Wizarding World's cruelty once again. It was a cold day, but that wasn't the reason for the chill she felt in her bones.  
Even after the War and all the fight she put up, the Ministry insisted on keeping the Dementors at least until the end of the last Death Eater's trial: justice, they had the nerve to call it.  
Revenge, she had corrected them.  
Hermione understood the world's bloodthirst in the aftermath of the War: they all lost someone. But vengeance was not the right answer.  
The thought she clung to during Hogwart's Battle, had later become her strongest excuse for the horror she had witnessed from her side: no matter what, they fought for life.  
This execution -because that was the right word to describe it- wasn't even the result of a trial, he never stood a chance against the Wizengamot's severe judgment, no matter how much the brightest witch of her age stood against it, she couldn't change their mind. The Ministry wanted to prove a point, trying to mend the broken image of unusefulness they earned during the War, and regain some sort of consent and trust from the population, careless if they sacrificed -almost- innocent people in the process.  
Harry had somehow helped her, she thought as she glanced her friend beside her, and even though he daren't step up for the Death Eater, he understood her choice. He totally approved the fight against the Dementors in Azkaban, with Sirius's past nearly execution being a contributing factor. He sensed her scrutiny, and absentmindedly placed a hand on hers, the warm comfort spreading from his skin unable to encourage her as she looked down to the empty pitch. They chose Hogwarts' Quidditch field to carry out the sentence, much to her surprise.  
People had slowly gathered on the stands around them. When everybody spotted a little figure down below, approaching the pitch's center in long strides, murmurs started spreading through the crowd.  
"Dearest witches and wizards, we just came out of what I'd dare to describe as one of the most wicked times in our history." he paused. "Today we're all gathered here to witness the remnants of that era disappear. The time has come for all the Death Eaters to pay for their crimes!" the crowd roared in approval.  
Hermione shivered. She knew all the reasons behind this, all the pressure the members of the Wizengamot put on Shacklebolt, practically forcing him to accept their judgment, born just by prejudices and not based on facts and evidence.  Hermione felt a sudden wave of nausea at the memory.  
When she tried to explain, she was met with silence and contrite expressions from the Court's members.  
"Give them a fair trial! Or at least take my statement!" she was nearly pleading, but it didn't get through to them. They weren't different from Voldemort's army of Death Eaters, nor from his predicaments. They hid behind a false pretense of justice, but in reality, it was all the same all over again, just reversed.  
Harry's tightening grip brought her back from her thoughts, and with that, she noticed the goosebumps forming on her cold skin. The Golden Boy turned to face her, worry twisting his features. "Hermione, they're here... This-this is a terrible mistake, the Ministry... We cannot let this happen." his tone was clipped and urgent.  
"Harry, you know we already did everything possible..." but her words got caught in her throat as she saw two dementors coming into view from the thick fog that was slowly enveloping that cold morning. Harry followed her gaze, the color suddenly leaving his cheeks.  
The sounds disappeared from the area, none amidst the public dared to speak, and even time seemed to slow its pace. The entire crowd was holding their breath as air grew thicker around them.  
Merlin, they were at least two hundred feet away, and yet the effect was so intense. It reminded her of how hard it had been to stand closer, and she winced at the memory.  
The dementors were floating on the field, and Shacklebolt had wisely retreated back, attempting to put as much distance as he could between him and those creatures.  
There was a ring of Aurors encircling the pitch, ready to cast their Patronuses to keep the monsters at bay, far from the public. That was ridiculous, they were all behaving as if it was some sort of celebration: not even the dementors' threat kept people from attending.  
Suddenly two loud cracks broke the silence, as six more shapes appeared on the field.  
Two of them were on their knees, while the other four, their wands drawn, stood in pairs at each side of the prisoners: Aurors.  
The detainees' long blond -almost white- hair shone in the pale light slipping through the clouds, and Hermione's heart jumped in her throat to the sight, as she remembered the reason why her best friend and former lover was not at her side. Even though Ron's shape was not recognizable from where they were sitting, she knew he was one of them.  
That had caused their last fight, she thought bitterly, the final one.  
He was so stubborn, acting like he'd been brainwashed from his fame, lured in the Auror section by promises of greatness, too blinded by rage to see what was really happening. She knew he blamed every single Death Eater for his brother's death - Fred's lifeless face danced before her eyes as unshed tears filled them- but Aurors shouldn't pursue their personal interests or worst, revenge.  
And in that exact moment, something stirred and clicked inside her.  
She couldn't witness that barbarity just standing there, helpless. She had to do something. Hermione stood up, drawing attention and whispers from the people surrounding her. She reached out with her left palm to Harry, and the moment he took her hand, they were both bolting down the stairs, pushing through the crowd. "Draco Lucius Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy, you have been charged with the worst accuses." Harry and Hermione froze in their steps, hurrying to the closest hole in the drape that covered the wooden structure of the stands to catch a glimpse of Shacklebolt. He was now speaking from a patio guarded by the Aurors' Patronuses and sat between what it appeared to be the whole Wizengamot's Court.  
"You pled yourselves guilty of all charges and are sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss." he concluded in a dry and emotionless tone.  
The crowd gulped at the unison, and the silence enveloped the arena.  
As long as the words left the Minister's lips, the dementors were on the two men, draining their souls.  
"Oh, Harry, this is so bad..." she cried out, desperate for justice to run its course, but in the right way.  
"Hermione, my guess is that you stay at a distance, hidden from the Aurors, or they'll get you too soon, and this will be all for nothing."  
"No." He had stopped to take two deep breaths, but she had already blurted out the word. "There's no way I'm standing back and let you go in there. This is my battle to fight, so this time I get to decide what to do." her tone was resolute, leaving no space for any argument. "You cast your Patronus from a hidden spot, and come out just in the hopeless case I need help. But I am doing this." Seeing the commitment in her eyes, an expression he learned to love through the years, Harry agreed.  
Her hug was quick but warm, searching for reassurance and gathering all the courage she needed.  
Hermione ignored the dread that clenched her stomach, gulped down any hesitation and ran, taking the last steps two at a time, darting towards the field.  
"Expecto Patronum!"  
They shouted the charm at the same time from the respective positions. Silver strings of magic flowed from the tips of their wands, and her otter and Harry's deer dashed into the pitch, summoned by the strength of their happiest memories.  
  


* * *

So that was what it felt like to face death, Draco thought bitterly.  
How had the Golden Trio managed to appear so untouched every time a life-threatening event hit them through the years, was something his Slytherin mind couldn't grasp.  
Fear was shaking his chains, as the two Aurors dragged him and his father through the corridors. They weren't allowed to speak, let alone talk to each other, their last moments together enveloped in a surreal silence.  
When he felt the Apparition's familiar tug at his navel, he counted two exact seconds, before dropping on the field's grass. It tickled at his skin, its wetness soaking into the rags he was wearing, sending chills up his spine as the fabric stuck to his skin.  
It had been his last wish, to die where it had all began, macabre poetry hidden in his choice.  
When he lifted his head, he wasn't expecting to see a gulping crowd on his old Quidditch field's stands, nor the entire Wizengamot Court to attend the event.  
In fact, what he had imagined was something completely different. More like he, his father facing the Golden Trio and their families -the ones who had survived, at least- with expressions drowned in contentment at the sight of their chained enemies ready to face life's worts fate: the Kiss.  
Instead, they had a public.  
The sound that left his lips was supposed to be a chuckle; instead, it resounded at his ears more like a ghoulish bark, lasting for what it felt like an eternity.  
One of the Aurors hit him square in the chest with a kick so hard it stole the air from his lungs. "What's so funny, Malfoy, uh?"  
He knew that voice, but they didn't give him enough time to recognize the hooded Auror before dragging him off his feet towards the center of the arena.  
He wanted to fight and buck and run away, like the coward he was, his survival instinct still alive inside his mind, but long gone from his muscles.  
No, this was justice running its course in the right way, and he deserved it.  
At least, they spared his mother.  
He had screamed and begged them, on his knees, crying like a child, to do so.  
It was all that mattered to him, that was what drove him to the Dark Lord in the first place and then away from his embrace: love.  
His mother's love, to be more specific.  
She was safe. And with that last thought, Draco faced the faceless monster, feeling the soaked wet clothed getting colder and colder, the air coming in and out with frantic gasps as the fear caused by the dementors' tore a hole in his guts, driving through his skin like hot metal, and then, all was black.  
His head was in the eye of the storm, thanks to the Occlumency's shield still struggling to fight the creature, while it was probably sucking his face off at that moment.  
And in the worst time of his life -probably the last, he thought- his organized mind was picking the happiest memories, in a desperate attempt to keep him grounded.  
As if his fate was suddenly mocking him in his final moments, he heard a soft familiar chuckle at the edge of his consciousness, and Granger's image came crashing down on him with full force.  
He saw her in class, sitting in the first row, next to the two inseparable friends: Weasley and Potter. The memory was probably from their fourth year, she was laughing graciously, her eyes bright and happy as she fixed an untamed curl that had slipped from the hair clip, behind her ear. It had been such an intimate gesture, her expression so open and exposed yet so joyful, he couldn't help the warm feeling from spreading in his chest.  
And there he was, relieving the memory once again, while his world was slowly disappearing, his mind falling into pieces around him. Not even Occlumancy, or the sweet torture of Granger's smile, could save him from the Kiss.  
And when the invasive presence clouding his mind receded abruptly, Draco found himself sprawled on the ground.  
He let out a cry of utter surprise, just in time for it to be obscured by the next wave of pure astonishment at the sight of an aethereal otter -a Patronus, he remembered- joyfully jumping around.  
He was alive.  
And someone had cast the spell to save him.  
And just like that, he saw the strangest thing in those who he believed his last three minutes of life: Hermione Granger, casting protecting spells to defend herself from the Aurors, running towards him.  
And with that, he collapsed, his mind and body exhausted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's premise:  
> I don't own Harry Potter, and most certainly, my knowledge of such a vast world is incomplete to say at least. That's why in this story I'll take the liberty to change some things in the Judicial System, such as the presence of public defenders, lawyers, or the layout of the Department of Magic Law Enforcement -to which I added the public defenders' section, as you'll see in this chapter-. These and other changes may occur throughout the whole story: I hope you don't mind them.  
> However, if you do, I always welcome every opinion, and I will definitely appreciate any hint or suggestion, as long as they're not just mere criticism.  
> Thanks for your kindness and support!

**Chapter 2**

**Bruises**

Ron waved his wand, threatening the circle of Aurors ready to get the girl on her knees. "You better stop right here and right now, because if any of you hurts her, I promise, you will find yourself flying directly to St. Mungos in no time." he watched her out of the corner of his eye. "Hermione, bloody hell! What are you trying to do!?"  
She heard Ron's scared tone and looked around.  
Father and son were both unconscious on the ground, some feet away from her. The dementors were gone, she realized with relief.  
Hermione took advantage of the stalled situation, casting an amplifying charm on her voice, and spoke. "I'm here to talk some sense into everybody who gathered here today," she gestured to the crowd, then to the Wizengamot's Court. Eventually, she shifted her attention to Ron, whose cheeks were blushing slightly, as something similar to guilt, or shame -she couldn't tell-, swam in his eyes.  
"This is not justice." she resumed, walking towards the Minister, but keeping at a distance the moment she saw movement amidst the Aurors.  
"I'm here to ask you: is this the world you want? A world where you enjoy witnessing a helpless eighteen years old getting the Kiss?" she emphasized her last word, glancing at the multitude of murmuring faces looking back at her. "He hadn't even had a proper trial! I see no difference between this and Voldemort's methods." she gestured towards Draco, who woke up in the meantime, but hadn't dared to move and sat still staring surprised at the situation.  
The members of the Wizengamot whispered conspicuously; finally, one of them stood up.  
"Miss Granger, the prisoners willingly pled themselves guilty; there's no need for a trial."  
She scowled at him.  
"Does any of you actually believe he had a choice?"  
She was oblivious to the reasons why Lucius Malfoy confessed his guilts, so she just referred to his son's motives. "All I see is a boy, who exchanged his life for his mother's: is this really what you call a decision? Because to me, it looks more like extortion, the same Voldemort put on his head three years ago!" she stopped talking and caught her shallow breath, trying to calm the frantic beating pounding in her ears.  
At a loss for words, the Court stood silent.  
Shacklebolt regarded her for a moment and then averted his gaze to her left, where Harry had appeared. All eyes focused on him.  
"She's right, Minister." that was all he said, nodding and looking the man in the eye with gravity. The public must have realized, at some point, that there wouldn't be any execution that day, because a cacophony of voices shouting indistinct words raised from the stands, and people started apparating away.  
Shacklebolt shook his head twice, then gestured towards Ron. "Take them away. I need to discuss with Granger and Potter in private."  
Her friend, along with the other Aurors, approached the prisoners. Malfoy was sitting on the grass with an unreadable expression, while his father was still unconscious on the ground. Ron turned to face her eventually, just before disappearing with the prisoners, a loud crack piercing the air. He needn't words: his eyes, once again full of anger, had spoken volumes.  
The members of the Wizengamot followed after, and the Minister turned to the crowd.  
"Despite their manners, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter made themselves very clear. Given the help they already provided during the War, we decided to hear their request. The execution is postponed."  
Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, making her flinch at the unexpected touch, and when she looked at him, he nodded in Shacklebolt's direction, guiding her towards him.  
The man looked severe, in his official robes, and his gaze was a heavy burden to carry. They apparated away together.

* * *

Shacklebolt sat silently behind his desk, and his expression was thoughtful.  
"You have to understand that my role here is delicate. And while I share your desire to get rid of the dementors in Azkaban, I cannot impose such decision on the Wizengamot without raising disagreements; that's why I had to mediate. Otherwise, they'd have me discharged in no time, and we'd lose our chance to reform the system."  
Hermione's eyes widened. "But Sir, we cannot give up our human side for diplomacy, or we'll be no different from Voldemort, neglecting morals for whatever we believe is the greater good!"  
The Minister smiled enigmatically, "And that's precisely why I trusted you to act as you did.".  
"You knew we'd do something? How could you possibly..." Harry looked both confused and angry.  
Shacklebolt's words sounded much like something Dumbledore would have said, and that thought cut the boy's voice, his eyes suddenly filled with sadness. Hermione must've understood his feelings because she rested a hand on his forearm and gave him a gentle squeeze to comfort him, earning a melancholic smile from her friend.  
The Minister smiled politely. "Of course, I had a backup plan, but let's put it this way: I'm glad it turned out unnecessary."  
"That was daring, to say the least. But in that regard, I have some questions." Hermione paused, pondering her next words.  
"And if I must say, I found the presence of a public highly demeaning: it was an execution, not a celebration!" she concluded, outraged.  
"I was expecting nothing less from you, Miss Granger, please ask your questions." Shacklebolt leaned closer, putting his arms on the desk, crossed his hands, and regarded her, awainting.  
Hermione sat uncomfortably in her chair, twisting her legs and shifting under his scrutiny.  
"I'd like to know what is the Court's plan now on, what are you going to do with the other Death Eaters awaiting the Kiss?"  
The Minister sighed, glancing down at his crossed hands on the table, his face showing a torn expression.  
"I was planning to put them aside, at least until we solve the matter at hand. I'd suggest, Miss Granger, you take this case to demonstrate how justice should work. Since you spoke so fervently at the execution, I believe it to be in your interest to finish what you started and give the Malfoys a fair trial. You two attended Hogwarts together; perhaps that should help you find evidence that Mr. Malfoy had been somehow... Forced in his decisions."  
The idea was brilliant and tempting. The trial represented a chance to point out the system's weaknesses, and besides that, she truly believed Malfoy didn't get a say in what happened to him, even if she'd never admitted it out loud.  
The thought gave her goosebumps from anticipation: she was going to make the difference, again, and the Minister had just shown her the way.  
At worst, with the final sentence being life imprisonment, she still could outline how the dementors were useless and also a danger to the Magic community.  
Shacklebolt's voice snapped her back into reality, as she realized she'd lost part of his words while pondering on the trial's implication.  
"... After your interruption, Mr. Weasley took both Mr. Malfoy and his father back to Azkaban but informed us that the elder looked rather... Ill." he looked at them and exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I ordered the Aurors to restrain him and put him in isolation at St. Mungo to get medical evaluation and, if necessary, get him treated. But that's not the real problem. His son, Draco, saw that something was off with his father, and threw a fight with an Auror. We had to chain him to prevent any violent threat to the guards. So, presuming that you'll need to visit him to gather information for the trial, I need to know when you intend to do so, just to make sure he won't be a threat to your safety."  
Hermione was speechless. Had they gone too far? Had Draco's father got the Kiss? Even if she loathed the man, couldn't help but shiver at the thought.  
"I... I don't know, Sir. I'm not a lawyer, and I don't know if I can stand a trial."  
"Well, Miss Granger, I'd say you'll be more a consultant in these circumstances, having stepped up so fiercely for the matter I'm afraid you're now too involved to back up because if that's the case, I believe the Wizengamot will proceed with their original plan. Furthermore, the Ministry blocked Malfoy's account because of their interaction with the Dark Lord, and we are trying to track the origin of their incomes, to avoid situations like the one after the First War. I suppose you know about that?" he raised a brow at her, but she was left speechless.  
"Lucius Malfoy, under his lawyer's counsel, declared his actions as a result of the Imperius Curse and earned his pardon. But I suppose that wasn't the only thing that bought him freedom; his money must have been quite useful, too." Harry's words were cold and distant. Hermione regarded him with a puzzled look.  
"Dumbledore told me." he answered the unspoken question.  
"Precisely, Harry. And that's why the Wizengamot considered it appropriate to block their account. We don't want that to happen again. Therefore, the Malfoys are getting a public defender in this trial, and I'm sure, whoever will it be, that he'd be honored to accept your help in the matter." Shacklebolt was looking at them, grinning proudly.  
"Now, now, you must be tired from the day. The Court's first audience is in ten days. I'll owl you the details of your meeting with the Malfoys' new lawyer. You are free to go."

* * *

"Are you really doing this? Helping Malfoy?" Harry's voice didn't hold any accusatory tone, but Hermione felt criticized nonetheless.  
"For Merlin' s beard Harry, It's not like I'm taking the Dark Mark. And no, I'm not helping Malfoy; I'm helping myself and the system." She paused. "Whatever the sentence, this trial is the perfect occasion to demonstrate that we cannot just condemn people without evaluating the situation. The Wizengamot has to judge based on facts, whether the accused is a Death Eater or not. We cannot bind the rules to fit our preferences, or we'll be no different from them." she concluded proudly.  
"Hermione, I didn't doubt that. I'm just asking if you're ok with that, that's all." he looked rather guilty, his hands raised in defense.  
She considered his words for some seconds. "I guess I am. I mean, it's not the ideal solution since, well, it's Malfoy we're talking about. You very well know how much of a git he's been through the years. But if that helps everyone open their eyes, I'm happy to sacrifice some of my patience for the collective well-being."  
They smiled at each other and continued walking side by side through London's streets, shivering from the cold and the fatigue from the day.

Later that night, Hermione was lying on the bed of her small flat in London, thinking back to the last months of her life after the War.  
By the end of July, she decided to head back to Hogwarts and take the N.E.W.T.s she picked during the madness that had been her sixth year. She couldn't move on with her life without a proper conclusion to her school record, as her parents actively taught her since she was just a kid.  
That particular thought caused an achingly burning sting piercing through her chest. She sent them to Australia, and they were still there, oblivious to the War that raged in England, and completely unaware of her existence. She wanted to get them back, but for months she'd been too afraid to try, and when she found herself eventually ready, the Death Eaters' execution list came in the way.  
Harry and Ron, on the contrary, had just thrown themselves into the Auror Headquarters and got accepted. They were happy, making a difference in the Wizarding World.  
Or, at least, Harry was.  
Ron had been angry all the time after the War, Fred's death had been too difficult to accept and left him with an open wound he wasn't able to heal or ignore.  
That made their already-fragile relationship even more vulnerable, and when she got back to Hogwarts, the distance weakened it even further. She remembered how hard it had been to focus on her exams and study, with the constant useless fights he used as a coping mechanism. But they made it through, and what killed it, in the end, was her eagerness to give the Death Eaters a fair trial: in his opinion, they were getting "what they deserved."  
The last argument and the break-up caused a bruise on her heart that didn't go away.  
  
Tossing and turning in her sheets, haunted by those thoughts, Hermione couldn't sleep that night.

* * *

Three days later, she was at the Ministry to meet the public defender.  
She tried to shake the increasing lousy feeling as she walked through the level two corridor. As she got through the Auror Headquarters, she found herself in a much larger wing, full of buzzing activity and small cubicles.  
She knew how those lawyers tended to be overwhelmed with work, and often neglected many of their disputes, but she hoped that wasn't the case, given the delicate situation they had to handle. She shook her head, adjusting her law book under her arm and picking up the pace.  
Twenty minutes later, it was clear that Mr. Turner was not an exception.  
He was quite young and looked like he had been thrown accidentally in that world. Hermione found him buried under stacks of papers, squeezed in a small office among many identical others, the misaligned letters of his name glued clumsily on the wooden door.  
She knocked on the door frame, looking at a mass of black curls behind the desk, as it bounced from a stack to the other and stopped when he heard her, raising his head to meet her eyes with his green ones.  
She blushed lightly. He was hardly older than her. What was the Minister thinking? The case was complicated, she couldn't do it on her own and definitely needed someone with lawsuit experience.  
Gulping down her disappointment, she stepped inside. "Hello Mr. Turner, I'm Granger... Hermione." she extended one hand to him, and he regarded her blankly for a second, then, realizing her words he stepped up abruptly, sending papers flying to the floor as he took her hand in his -warm, gentle- one and shook.  
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger, I'm Oliver Turner!" he said, his voice enthusiastic. He glanced around the small cubicle, spotted a chair submerged with folders, and levitated to the other side of the room where they fell ungraciously on the floor. He gestured to the available seat.  
"Please sit down." he said, returning behind his desk. "I guess you're here to talk about Malfoy's case?" he looked insecure, his tone wary.  
She sat on the chair, crossing her legs and placing the book on her lap, right over the hem of her pencil skirt that barely reached her knees. She saw Turner's gaze lingering on the gesture a bit too long, his adam apple bobbing as he gulped visibly, a blush caressing his cheeks.  
His eyes were shy when they meet hers.  
"Well," he stumbled on the words. "I already planned a meeting with the son, Dragon..."  
"Draco," she corrected him, letting the name roll on her tongue for one of the first time as she realized she might have never said it out loud.  
"Y-yes, Draco. Because his father, I'm afraid, is still in St. Mungo." he concluded.  
She frowned at the information. Maybe it was better off that way. She had barely tolerated Draco at Hogwarts, wouldn't imagine how to stand two of them at the same time.  
"Also, I need to inform you that her mother, Narcissa if I remember correctly, asked for a meeting as soon as possible."  
She sighed and politely smiled as he handed her a sheet and a quill. "I figured it would have been easier to write down our available time, to set up a sort of schedule for our meetings." She scratched her preferences and handed back the page. He eyed it and nodded slightly before putting it down on the table. "So Wednesday at 10 o' clock it is." he declared.  
Well, it appeared that, under all those stacks of papers, lay an organized mind. Maybe, as ironic as it was, Hermione had been too quick in her judgment.  
"The Minister already connected a private floo to Azkaban, for our use only. Our meeting with Malfoy is due in minutes if you want to follow me." He stepped aside at the door, gesturing the exit. She stood up and brushed past him.  
  
When they exited the fireplace, they found themselves in a dark aisle.  
She spotted Ron, a few feet away from them. When he saw her, his lips curled in a smile, but it died abruptly, as he probably realized why she was there.  
Turner approached him. "You must be Ronald Weasley." his voice sounded respectful, almost adoring.  
The moment after, Ron was positively beaming, pleased from his tone. Merlin, he was so self-absorbed, Hermione mentally slapped herself.  
"Ron, we're here to see Malfoy." she stepped in, ending those pathetic theatrics before Turner could ask him for an autograph. Ron shot her a cold glance, and without a word, stormed off.  
"I guess it's that way." he said, his gaze dancing between the two of them.  
  
Malfoy's cell was down the hall.  
Approaching the door, they spotted an opening on the right, large enough for one of them to see inside the cramped place. In front of it, Ron had placed two chairs. She took one and sat down, discomfort twisting her guts as she shifted in her seat, feeling his friend -she wasn't sure he'd call her that- tearing a hole in her back with his stare. Hermione turned quickly to him, but he dodged her glance. She sighed, they needed to talk, again, soon.  
"May we start?" Turner's polite voice brought her back to the cell, and she leaned closer to the opening, looking inside the room.  
Calling it a room was too much. There was nearly enough space to fit a bed and a toilet. Hermione saw him, sitting on the bed's edge, eyes to the ground. He looked thinner, paler, his ghostly features hidden by the rags he was wearing. Seeing him hunched with his blonde hair long enough to cover his face was a gloomy image.  
"Malfoy." she called.  
His head snapped up as if someone just slapped him, and as their eyes locked, her breath got caught in her throat. He was, in fact, thinner. His cheekbones were protruding on his face, sharp jaw hidden partly by a sparse beard. Her attention, though, was on the bruise: a huge black and violet contusion bloomed on his features, starting from under his right eye, down to his neck. His hair hid the majority of it, but she could see the dried blood on his face, a sharp contrast on his skin tone. Someone beat him, she realized, remembering Shacklebolt's words.  
His stare, for a split second, was so full of rage and sadness she felt herself drowning in it.  
And then they suddenly disappeared. Hermione blinked twice, recovering from the turmoil of his emotions, and tried to take a hold on herself.  
"When you're finished gloating over my situation, Granger, we can go on." he snapped, Azkaban clearly hadn't scratched his attitude.  
"You know Malfoy, seeing your ass beaten up like this, it's not something that happens every day." she paused, regarding him.  
"I'm surprised not even a place like this could help your awful manners."  
He didn't answer; instead, he stood up. The chains on his wrists clattered on the stone floor as he took two hesitant steps towards the opening and then sat on the ground.  
Turner came into view, trying to peek inside and getting too close to her for her likings. She recoiled, giving him room.  
"Goodmorning Mr. Malfoy, I'm Oliver Turner, your public defender in this trial."  
Malfoy blinked in disbelief and shot him a poisonous glance.  
"No." he spat. And with that, he was silent. 


End file.
